


never whip a thoroughbred

by deepestfathoms



Series: mud!verse (Deetz-Maitland + Jockey family unit) [2]
Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Guilt, Repressed Memories, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 18:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: Back on the TV, the starting paddocks of what looked like some kind of track was displayed brightly across the screen. When a ringing bell sounded, horses sprung forth from the stalls like bullets. Charles was quick to grab the remote--“Wait!”--but he was stopped before he could change the channel.
Series: mud!verse (Deetz-Maitland + Jockey family unit) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214129
Kudos: 7





	never whip a thoroughbred

_ “For this next category in our countdown for the greatest sports moments, we have the underdogs!”  _ Yelled the ESPN host on the TV in a painfully overenthusiastic voice.  _ “These competitors started out slow, but came back with force, and, man, did they hit hard!” _

__ “I didn’t take you for a sports fan, Charles,” Barbara said from the kitchen as she, Delia, and Presley prepared dinner.

“I’m not in any way shape or form,” Charles replied.

“I just wanted to see the sports injuries,” Beetlejuice said, perking up from the couch. “Their screams and snapping bones are music to my ears!”

“Lawrence, what have we talked about this morbid stuff?” Delia said.

Beetlejuice sighed. “Not everyone is as desensitized to gruesome brutality as I am and I need to learn how to consider how they may react when I say something morbid.”

“And?”

“And indulging in gore can be detrimental to my mental health.”

“Good!” Delia beamed. She had essentially become the family’s very own personal therapist, and Beetlejuice, along with Lydia and Presley, were her most viewed customers. She took her job  _ very seriously. _

Back on the TV, the starting paddocks of what looked like some kind of track was displayed brightly across the screen. When a ringing bell sounded, horses sprung forth from the stalls like bullets. Charles was quick to grab the remote--

“Wait!” 

\--but he was stopped before he could change the channel.

Presley stared at the TV, eyes wide.

_ “There’s the roar from the crowd, and they’re on their way in the 2019 Breeders’ Cup Classic!”  _ The announcer’s voice boomed from the speakers.  _ “Crowd favorite, Fer-De-Lance, is flying right out the gate! But on the outside, Magic In Action is right up alongside, and they go on to lead the pack. On the extreme outside, Legend Has It is right there. Fancy Footwork is tucking in directly behind. Fool’s Gold has a beautiful spot down on the inside, keen to go on, he’s pulling harder. Homeward Bound and Ever So Clever racing right behind them. We then cut to Wind Up Toy who is sprinting in eighth, only four lengths off the leaders, the pace very honest early. And then we drop back to Storm Warning, who is slowly inching towards the leading group. Beside The Dying Fire is in dead last, about a dozen lengths off the pace, and the pace is hot with Legend Has It driving through to lead with Fer-De-Lance.” _

Presley’s breath was caught in her throat as she stared at the recorded race.

She knew this race.

She had been there.

That was her up there.

She remembered.

( **_the shearing of metal. the shrieking of horses. the yell of the crowd. the hiss of the other jockeys all around her._ **

**_“go home, little girl!”_ **

**_“you don’t belong here!”_ **

**_“you know nothing about this!”_ **

**_thoroughbred bodies slamming into the sides of the starting paddocks, making her feel claustrophobic, like she was being buried alive._ **

**_“you’re a joke!”_ **

**_the stink of dirt and horses and her own fear thick in the air, choking her, along with the dust, against her like everything else was._ **

**_“this isn’t for you!”_ **

**_Peril shifting beneath her thighs, muscles bunching and twitching, nostrils flaring and breath huffing, fur searing with sweat, supremely agitated._ **

**_“go back to where you came from!”_ **

**_the buzzer sounding, and Peril taking off like a rocket._ **

**_“you are nothing!”_ ** )

_ “Fer-De-Lance pulls through and takes the lead again, going at a steady pace, not in too much of a rush. Legend Has It goes down in close second, while Magic In Action scrapes behind in third. Fancy Footwork and Fool’s Gold are right there, too. Homeward Bound and Ever So Clever are neck-and-neck, competing closely for sixth place. Then comes Storm Warning, who pulls ahead of Wind Up Toy. Beside The Dying Fire is still a good ten-eleven lengths away from the leaders.” _

Presley slowly walked towards the TV, eyes shiny, mouth hanging open, and watched the replay of the race. She forgot how messy it looked from a spectator’s viewpoint, all the contestants piled together into one big sprinting mass. Most of the horses looked the same, usually either bay or dark brown, so their colorful jockeys had to be the contrast in appearance. but Presley could pick out her horse within seconds.

( **_it was humid and chilly outside, but Peril’s fur was burning hot, stinging through Presley’s jockey pants. his muscles were tight and straining, his legs pushing him faster and faster without her even asking him to. she let him._ ** )

It had rained on that day, before her race. The track was wet and muddy. She remembered the dirt flying up into her face, filling her mouth and nose and ears, making her feel like sludge was leaking from all of her pores, but she pushed on.

( **_they pushed on._ ** )

_ “A half mile to go, now, and Fer-De-Lance is still in the lead, refusing to let anyone pass by. Legend Has It and Magic In Action are being forced to bob and weave in an attempt to get around, but Fer-De-Lance isn’t allowing any passage. On the far side, Fool’s Gold breaks ahead to take fourth. Homeward Bound passes Fancy Footwork. Ever So Clever seems content with seventh at this point. Beside The Dying Fire pulls ahead of Wind Up Toy and Storm Warning. Let’s see- Beside The Dying Fire has a lot of ground to make up, but if he can win this, he’ll be a superstar. His jockey is Presley Lind, and if they manage to take first place, she will be the first woman and youngest person to win the Breeders’ Cup Classic at fifteen-years-old! But I don’t know if she’ll be able to make it. There’s only a short way to go and it’s a tough pack she’s competing with.” _

Heads snapped towards Presley. She felt their eyes on her, similar to how she felt eyes on her down on that track, but, similar to back then, she ignored it. She was lost in the hypnotic sound of hoofbeats.

( **_“come on, Perry,” Presley remembered whispering to her horse, but she can’t recall if the words actually ever came out of her mouth or she just imagined them in the heat of the moment. “you can do it. i know you can.”_ ** )

(  **_“who’s my big brave boy?”_ ** )

( **_Peril charged forward like a flaming rocket._ ** )

_ “As the field turns to home, Fer-De-Lance still leads the pack. Magic In Action begins to lag behind as Fool’s Gold takes the spot of third. Legend Has It continues to fight for the position of first place but doesn’t seem to be winning as we near the finish line. Homeward Bound is crying out for room. Homeward Bound could be dangerous- will he make it through? Ever So Clever attempts to pull up, but is getting lost in the dust. Beside-- Beside The Dying Fire has moved to the outside! He’s flying in a blistering gallop! He pulls ahead of Fool’s Gold and Legend Has It and is now challenging Fer-De-Lance for first! This is unbelievable!!” _

Presley’s eyes sparkled as she watched the steel grey stallion shoot up past the dark bay thoroughbred in first. One length, two lengths, three lengths, four lengths, five lengths- he charged ahead, the crowd roaring all around, and crossed the finish line in a whirl of dust.

_ “Beside The Dying Fire! What a performance! One we’ll never forget!” _

And if THAT nostalgia hadn’t been enough, immediately after the recording ended, a clip of an interview taken when the race had ended began to play.

Presley was faced with herself- her past self. The person she used to be.

The uniform was still the same--red and white checkerboard shirt, white pants, black boots, red and black helmet, goggles--but she was completely slathered in mud and dirt from the track. She was still on Peril’s back, goggle-covered eyes sparkling in the light mist that started to come down, unable to stop smiling for even a moment.

That didn’t feel like her anymore.

_ “Congratulations, Presley!”  _ Said the interviewer behind the camera, holding a mic out to her. Past-Presley looked absolutely ecstatic to be interviewed. 

_ “I can’t believe it!”  _ Past-Presley said, and Presley forgot that she could have ever sounded that happy before. She didn’t even know she had been capable of smiling as much as she was.  _ “Did you see him running? I mean, of course you did, everyone was watching the race, but he was  _ flying _!”  _ Her gloved hand scratched at Peril’s thick neck while she gushed about him. She slid off his back to properly face the interviewer on his level.  _ “He did fantastic! I’m so proud of him!” _

_ “Were you ever nervous?”  _ The interviewer asked.  _ “You were in last for a while.  _ We  _ were certainly nervous for you.” _

_ “Of course I was nervous,”  _ Past-Presley said honestly.  _ “I’ve been shaking in my boots the minute I woke up this morning- I still am!”  _ She held up a hand to show how it was quivering.  _ “But I trust Peril. He knows what he’s doing better than I do. It’s-- it’s like a teamwork effort. He handles the speed, I handle the steering. If we don’t work together, then we won’t be able to race. But he deserves all the praise, not me. He did all the work. I could have never ran that much. Like, I’m breathing heavily and I just sat on his back the whole time!” _

_ “And you never touched your whip once,”  _ The interviewer pointed out.

Past-Presley laughed slightly, shaking her head. She took her goggles off and dragged her sleeve across her sweat and dirt-soaked face. 

_ “I never use my whip. Not if I don’t have to. I understand why other jockeys do, but I’m not really about that. You never whip a thoroughbred.” _

Presley wanted to laugh at the irony. Her strangled throat didn’t allow it.

Out of the corner of her blurry eye, she saw Lydia and Charles glance at her with matching frowns.

_ “And tell us a bit about yourselves,”  _ The interviewer went on.  _ “You’re fifteen?” _

_ “Yes, sir,”  _ Past-Presley nodded.  _ “I’m fifteen-years-old and my name is Presley Lind. My parents own a farm, so I kinda grew up with horses and I knew I wanted to do something with them when I got older. But more importantly, this is Peril!”  _ She eagerly looked up at her horse, and there was so much love in her eyes. She scratched behind his ear. _ “You probably know him as Beside The Dying Fire, though. He’s three-years-old and a huge grump. He’s got the biggest temper, but it gives him so much personality. And it makes me want to try harder to live up to his expectations because he deserves the best.” _

_ “Now, a bit of a stupid question, but what was it like winning such a big race? And at such a young age, too.” _

Past-Presley gave a slight laugh.  _ “Oh, god, you’re going to make me emotional again,”  _ She said.  _ “It was-- I can’t even describe it. It was just incredible. This is a dream come true for me. He’s my whole world and the fact that I get to be his jockey--”  _ She sniffled, laughing again, and quickly wiped her eyes.  _ “Sorry. I just--  _ this  _ is why I get up in the morning. This is why I do everything I do. Riding, being with Peril, gives me such a thrill. It makes me so happy. And Peril, god-- he responded beautifully. He did everything I wanted and more. He pushed through the pack and flew past all of them. I couldn’t even breathe through all of that- it all happened so fast.”  _ She stroked Peril’s neck, the adoration never leaving her eyes. She was still grinning her head off.  _ “He’s my best friend. I couldn’t ask for a better horse.” _

_ “And, Presley, is there anything you would like to say to listeners right now?” _

_ “I think we should start investing in mouth guards and nose plugs for jockeys because I swear I swallowed enough dirt to make a small garden,”  _ Past-Presley said, and she and the interviewer laughed.

The clip then switched to something about hockey. Presley couldn’t really tell, though. Her vision was kind of blurry.

She turned and walked back to the kitchen without a word.

Eyes were following her. She could feel them on her.

“Presley, sweetheart,” Barbara said, gently touching her shoulder. Her hands moved to Presley's face, cupping her cheeks and making her look up at her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Presley answered, smiling like nothing was wrong. As she looked up at Barbara, she noticed her vision was still hazy, and then she realized those were tears running down her face. She was crying.

_ Her best friend… _

Presley looked at the knife she was going to use to cut vegetables for dinner. She set it down. She didn’t trust herself with a blade when her head was as much of a mess as it was.

“I’m going to go grab something from my room,” Presley announced, and walked upstairs calmly.

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. She was going to grab something.

Presley swiped her crop up from its place on the nightstand.

Never whip a thoroughbred.

But there was nothing that said you couldn’t whip a foolish jockey.

She rolled up her sleeve, raised the crop, and cracked it down on her flesh, adding to the tallies of red already scored up and down her inner arms.


End file.
